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estie wari Oct 12
i bore at this empty white sheet
waiting to acquire my words.
for i wish to elaborate that night i spent under the stars;
so i close my eyes to recall that vision.
but, i cant.

all i see is this black void.
"look into your mind!"
but, i cant.

you told me to shut my eyes, to see the beach.
to close my eyes;
to imagine a world like that.
to cover my vision with my eyelid.
to sense that night again.
but, i cant.

for,
when i 'look' back to that night;
i pick up the sheer screeching of the crickets
while we counted the stars.
i looked at you and smiled;
locked in your eyes for a while.
surely,
i mustve seen something magnificent in them.
now, you looked back and laughed;
and i had the urge to greet your lips with mine.
surely,
i mustve seen something lovable in them.

i know,
you told me you relive those moments much too often,
you compare it to your favorite episode from the office.
but, i cant.
i was meant to write about the most special night of my life, but it ended up being about aphantasia.
Aphantasia is a mental condition characterized by an inability to voluntarily visualize mental imagery. as an aphant, this means that once a moment has passed, ill never be able to voluntarily visually relive those moments again.
estie wari Oct 8
i walked out the cafe with the usual pride in my stride
as a young lady, portraying my vigor.
they knew me for the scornful maiden i was,
for my heart was a cold place.
had i not been desired by the gentlemen since young,
my soul would've probably known better.

but as the breeze outside the diner hit my petite build,
i saw him with his cold brew contrasting the warm weather.
i recognized the university cardigan,
surely must he be brilliant.
what happened that moment,
i remember it all well for an aphant.

now, he strode into the cafe.
my eyes hunted for the sight of his curly hair,
for i couldn't ever get enough.
the curiosity rose in me
as i took a few steps towards the cafe.

then i knew, i wasn't that cold afterall.
for now; i yearned for his slight fingers locking into mine.
i needed the brown eyes gazing into mine.
i wanted the soft lips pecking onto mine.
or maybe;
just lay on his chest in his university sweatshirt.
estie wari Oct 8
i often wonder;
how lives the poor man.
i noticed him there
by the bridge.

his skin was burnt
by the coarse light of the day;
i gaped as he stood there
in a ragged attire.
i know im not to judge,
but he didnt look too decent.

now, he walked away with his dish.
a coin or two,
he'd receive
if the bountiful felt pity.

i often wonder,
how strives that poor man by the bridge.

— The End —